


Trust

by Mr_Lonely



Series: Virtues [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Deep Conversations, M/M, Talking, gentle angst, reflections, soft fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:00:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28021314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mr_Lonely/pseuds/Mr_Lonely
Summary: Will fought off the wave of sleep that threatened to pull him under again. "Want some company?""I will be alright, thank you."The response was clipped, distant. Veiled.“You can't hide from me,” Will hummed. “Not when I know how to find you.”
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: Virtues [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2034442
Comments: 12
Kudos: 96





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been really excited for this one, I hope you enjoy!!  
> (I'll dance at your wedding if you kudos/comment <3)

Will was woken up, for once not by a nightmare, but a soft light coming from the other side of the bed. He was already reaching across the sheets before his mind woke up. The hand was there, but at an odd angle.

"Hannibal?"

"I'm here." Hannibal was sitting up, evidently doing something that couldn't wait until morning.

Will cracked an eye open long enough to take in the drawing pad in Hannibal's lap. "Couldn't sleep?"

"Dreams have eluded me tonight, it seems." Empty, prepared words. 

Will fought off the wave of sleep that threatened to pull him under again. "Want some company?"

"I will be alright, thank you."

The response was clipped, distant. Veiled. 

“You can't hide from me,” Will hummed. “Not when I know how to find you.”

Hannibal’s hand twitched in his, and in the silence the veil lifted again, inch by painful inch. Will shifted closer, adjusting their hands; his wordless encouragement and demand to continue. 

Hannibal sighed. "The source of my trouble lies far enough behind my person suit that I find myself returning to it. I confess… I am not used to sharing the contents of this particular room in my mind palace.”

"So tell me without telling me," Will mumbled, a little too tired for their typical exchange of lengthy metaphors. 

Even now, Will had no idea how many languages Hannibal spoke. English, Italian, Lithuanian, and French, of course, but it wouldn't surprise him if the man spoke more. Either way, it was three more languages than Will spoke (five or six French phrases aside). So, it was the perfect solution.

Hannibal shifted and set down the drawing pad onto the side table before settling to sit more comfortably against the headboard. And he started speaking, probably his native language.

With the combination of Hannibal's hand safely slotted with his and the soothing timbre of his voice, Will was no match for sleep pulling him back under. 

\----

Sleeping in the same bed had been a matter of convenience at first. 

While this house was certainly more modest than the Lecter manor, or Hannibal’s own house, there was only so modest a man like Hannibal could live. Even though this house had two stories, for the first few months they stayed in the guest bedroom downstairs.

Ever try to climb the stairs with a bullet wound or broken ribs? It wasn't worth the pain.

The bed was certainly big enough for both of them to sleep in without ever touching. Will looked after Hannibal’s bullet wound. Hannibal cared for Will’s various stitches. It was much easier to roll over after a fitful nap to take Hannibal’s pulse, rather than having to get up. Since Hannibal was bedridden, being in the same bed meant it was easier to shift over while Will was sleeping to check his stitches. 

Once Hannibal could climb the stairs without difficulty, they moved to the upstairs bedroom. It was instinct to follow Hannibal; Will was tired of ignoring his instincts. Hannibal hadn't protested, in fact he looked relieved. 

Sometimes Will forgot that he was living behind the veil now, that Hannibal put on his person suit about as often as he wore a three piece.

(It was not often, as they hardly left the house.)

That just made it all the more startling to see Hannibal asleep on the small couch in their living room, some Italian book on his chest by the looks of the title. Will couldn't help but smile at the absurdity of it all. Hannibal looked different when he slept, when sleep wasn't one wrong step away from death. Will could observe Hannibal without being seen. Another rarity.

Naturally, the man could be woken by a pin drop or change in the air, so Will wasn't surprised when Hannibal’s eyes fluttered open and fixed on him. 

Will's smile softened. "When I said I changed you, I didn't mean like this."

"Domestic life has only ever appealed to me in the theoretical sense. That is, until I knew you.” Hannibal smiled for a moment, then shifted to sit up straighter. “Care to join me?”

_What the hell?_ Will thought and sat down. There wasn't much distance between them.

“I am curious though," Hannibal said, "as to what you did mean."

Will's jaw twitched. "Broke your heart to prove you had one."

“Prove to whom?”

Will looked at him for a moment, then shifted to lay on his back with his head on Hannibal’s thigh and legs dangling off the arm rest. “Myself, I guess, but mostly to you.”

"My heart was largely unnecessary and inconvenient, so to speak. It remained in a dusty room with the curtains drawn."

There was a pause then, but Will had an inkling that Hannibal was dancing around something. That was fine, he was far more comfortable than he expected to be. 

“We spoke earlier of regret.” Hannibal closed his book, and set it on the side table. “I would like to assure you that I do not regret how our circumstances aligned.” Slowly, watching for any sign of discomfort, Hannibal rested a hand on Will’s head.

“Do you regret anything?” Will asked offhandedly. Hannibal combed his fingers through Will's curls. _Didn't even realize how long my hair’s gotten._

Hannibal exhaled through his nose. “I regret the outcome of other people’s actions, and how they affect me. I have always arranged my actions to leave me without regret.”

Will snorted. “So you just don't take responsibility for unfavorable outcomes.”

“I take responsibility for all my actions. I understand my mistakes, and do not make them again to the best of my ability."

Will chewed on his lip. "I can't help but regret."

Hannibal was quiet for a moment. "Do you regret this, Will?"

Will studied Hannibal’s face without meeting his eyes. The memory came back without any prompting, but it wasn't as sharp as it had been a few weeks ago.

"I was so sure you were going to kiss me, that night you stabbed me. The way you looked at me, you _waited_ for me…" Will trailed off.

"Would you have reciprocated?" 

Will said softly, "I don't know."

Hannibal slid his hand from Will's hair to take one of his hands and bring it up to his face. Will watched his own hand as it traced Hannibal's cheek, nose, lips, chin. Something so new shouldn't have felt so familiar.

"What were you reading?"

The shift in subject did nothing to dispel the emotions that swirled thickly in the air, but Will would take this shaky vulnerability over hatred any day.

_We’ve been locked at each other’s throats for so long, but it feels natural to let go._

“I had a sudden craving for Dante.” He took the book back off the table. Will closed his eyes, taking Hannibal’s hand in his and resting them on his stomach.

“Read to me?”

“As you wish.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Didn't mean to fall asleep,” Will grunted.  
> Hannibal did not still his hand in Will’s hair. “It is natural for the brain to induce sleep when it feels safe.”  
> “That makes sense,” Will said simply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year!  
> have this little blurb from my drafts  
> to everyone who has commented, ily xx

Hannibal watched as Will’s eyes fluttered closed. He watched as Will’s breathing evened out, as the grip on his hand slackened. He continued the poem for a few moments, more a recitation than reading, just to watch Will’s face. 

In the beginning, he couldn't even open his right eye due to the stab wound from the Dragon; just opening his jaw took an incredible amount of effort and lots of painkillers. Now, enough time had passed where the stitches were removed and the scar had turned white. The scar was by no means faint, but it was almost better that way; the evidence of his survival would not fade, no more than the memories would.

He had never felt embarrassed staring at Will. The man was not always fond of eye contact, even with people he was used to, but he never objected to Hannibal’s staring. Joked, perhaps, sometimes snapped at him, but never told him to stop.

Most likely this was because Will did his own fair share of staring, and was equally unashamed about it. 

Hannibal contented himself to be stuck on the couch for some time, and considered what to make for dinner. Hunting had been scarce, in the aim of keeping off the FBIs radar. So far, the small, independent grocery stores nearby had been able to keep up with his standards. 

Will’s hair was very soft. Hannibal’s hand had been idly combing through it while he thought. It had grown out a bit. His hair was one of the things Will had little to no preference over, changing it to suit other people. If Will asked, Hannibal would cut it for him, but only if he asked. 

Despite the clock above the fireplace, Hannibal measured the time elapsed in his head. Even then, it felt like only moments had passed since Will’s eyes closed to when he shifted now. 

“Didn't mean to fall asleep,” Will grunted. 

Hannibal did not still his hand in Will’s hair. “It is natural for the brain to induce sleep when it feels safe.”

“That makes sense,” Will said simply. “What time is it?”

Hannibal glanced at the clock. “Just after six.” He looked down just in time to catch Will’s brow raise.

“Latest you've ever started dinner.”

Hannibal’s smile came as a sheer response now, even though Will’s eyes were closed. “I believe I will manage.”

“Hmm.”

It had been a dreary couple of days, alternating between snow and icy rain. Not enough to trap them quite yet, but enough to discourage leaving the house. Sometimes it felt like this was a room in his mind palace, that dusty room where Hannibal kept his heart. He wasn’t alone, now.

“Are you going to let me stand up, Will?”

Will kept his eyes closed, but his face twitched into a smile. “I had the rather selfish thought of just keeping you here.”

“Selfish? You readily gave others use of your mind for their own ends, you take in all manner of strays, regardless of their condition, you risk life and limb for the safety of others-” Will opened his eyes to meet Hannibal’s steady gaze. “-if you are selfish, it is the exception, not the rule.”

Will’s eyes flitted around Hannibal’s face. He was ready, tensed, judging if he needed to be on his guard. Hannibal could feel every scar Will had given him, every injury and undeniable mark. 

“I would be honored, Will, if you loved me selfishly.”

Here was his truth, bleeding out into the shadows from the fireplace. Hannibal was, absurdly, reminded of the moment he had been shot by the Red Dragon. Injured, vulnerable, at Will’s mercy.

Will’s mouth opened and closed a few times, jaw working, before he replied. “I already do.” 

How similar this feeling was to dying; the shakiness of the heart, the shortened breaths. To be standing together in a pool of your mingled blood. How easy it was to keep bleeding when your other half looked radiant in red.

He had a mind to tell Will just that, when several of the dogs came bounding into the room. Minnie led the pack, followed closely by her brother Dante (surprisingly, not one of the three dogs Hannibal named). 

Rusty (the first dog Hannibal named) the pug waddled right up to Hannibal’s shins and, seeing that his usual spot in his lap was currently occupied, let out a garbled bark. 

Will shifted his head towards Rusty. “Can I help you?”

Rusty barked again, wiggling. For some reason, the pug was incredibly fond of Hannibal, and may have been the first dog the man had ever met that didn't instantly trust Will. 

“Alright, alright. You know, I was just saying that it was dinner time.” Will’s voice changed when he spoke to his dogs, shifting somewhere between scolding and affectionate; it was the voice a parent would use on an unruly child that finally fell asleep and couldn't hear. 

Reluctantly, Will hauled himself upward and, with a passing touch on Hannibal’s shoulder, went into their kitchen to make the dogs’ dinner. Hannibal watched him go, suddenly lost in the memory of what that hand had felt like against his lips, and the question: would Will let him do it again? 


End file.
